Oh So Pleasant
by Esse
Summary: E. Aster Bunnymund can go anywhere he wants. Any time he wants. With any one he wants.


_**Disclaimer:**__ Neither movies nor books nor anything of any value whatsoever belongs to Esse._

_**Notes:**_RotG_ crossover that is not in the crossover section because:  
__1) It would so ruin everything  
__2) I blithely claim the crossover is canon despite what reality insists, and  
__3) The other movie has no category of its own_

_**Warnings:**__ None, other than Esse wrote it ^^;; That, and this can actually be tied into _In The Silence_. Or, at least, I managed t' do it in my mind..._

~o~  
Oh So Pleasant  
~o~

E. Aster Bunnymund can go anywhere he wants. Any _time_ he wants. With any _one_ he wants. Time and space mean little to him, not when all of eternity can fit with room to spare inside a second and galaxies can cling like grains of sand stuck in the fur between his toes as he walks the shores of Sandy's island. He can go _anywhere_, time and again as long as he's already been there. There's paradox in the mechanics, and it's paradox that gives life its forward momentum.

He can go anywhere, but there are places and times and _people_ he prefers — and they are seldom the places and times and _people_ that others expect. Bunnymund doesn't like being known; he'd much rather be unknown, but every once in great while he wishes for a bit more understanding from those that know him best _yet don't know him at all_. It is but another paradox, and it's paradox that leads life into stagnation.

North laughs. Every decade, or century, or monthly meeting; North laughs and slaps his thigh with a large, calloused fist and calls out, "Ah, Bunny! Back from your favorite place?" The man will then nudge Toothiana, or Sanderson, or no one at all as he nods sagaciously causing the tips of the curls of his long, white beard to waggle comically over his prescient belly. "Birth of the universe. What a sight that must be!"

And it is a sight. Wonderful and awe-inspiring and also tremendously _sad_; Bunnymund goes there occasionally when the ache for the company of other Pookas grows too great. But it's _not_ his favorite place, and it's most definitely _not_ his favorite time.

_Not his favorite person, although the conversation of his brethren fills the emptiness in his heart to the point where he can continue on, forever and forever and forever._

Toothiana has never claimed to know him, which he appreciates — and proves that she knows him somewhat better than most. She doesn't claim to know his favorite places, though whenever they meet she takes time to ask him about Australia. About Atlantis. About a handful of islands both above and below the shifting green-dark seas. She knows him well enough to recognize his fondness for islands but _not_ quite well enough to avoid the argument over what differentiates an island from a continent.

She doesn't claim to know his favorite places, and doesn't particularly care whether or not he has a favorite time, but a look shadows her lilac-colored eyes whenever he complains about winter or the hassle of hiding eggs after a particularly ill-timed snowstorm. Her eyes darken to amethyst and her pink lips purse, and in between directing her fairies to various duties she flutters several feet higher simply to pat him on his shoulder.

"Just go visit him already," she says, and her attention strays before she can see him shrug. And Bunnymund does — but _not_ because Jack's his favorite person.

Jack's _not_ his favorite person, and autumn of 2039 is not his favorite time, and the park bench is _not_ his favorite place. Not by a long shot. But Bunnymund can sit there for hours at a time in perfect, companionable silence before moving on — and Jack never questions him about it. Jack will _never_ question him about it, because Jack never _has_.

Sandy _knows_ him as few others do, for Sandy knows his dreams. Dreams, though, aren't everything. And while Sandy can fill his sleep with conversations, with people and places he'd like to revisit, there's no emphasis. No particular note taken of _one_ individual, or _one_ place, or _one_ time. Sandy _knows_ him — but he doesn't know _this_ and it comforts Bunnymund that the one person who could uncover all his secrets and lay them bare loves him enough to not even _try_.

"Going on vacation?" Jack asks him, the boy lounging atop a Warrior Egg with a careless grace Bunnymund's learned not to envy.

He's known the boy for eons, and he's known the boy for several years, but it's three centuries that he's continually atoning for. And Jack laughs at him whenever he mentions it; laughs brightly with the promise of pranks to come. Jack laughs because he's _always_ laughed, and Jack knows Bunnymund well enough that he's come to understand that what's happened once is what will always, _always_ happen — and so a person should always do their best to get something right the _first_ time, because the _first_ time is, really, all the time there will ever be.

"Not for long," Bunnymund replies as he shoos an egg out of the room.

"Someday," Jack says as he pulls a watch out of his pocket, "you'll introduce me to your friend. I look forward to it."

The entire _universe_ tilts to fall in line with Jack's simple wish and Bunnymund blinks as paradox streaks by in washes of color reminiscent of the streams rushing past his home at the beginning of Spring. "I suppose I will." He tilts his head, and sniffs at air heavy with the rich smell of chocolate and lightened with the crispness of frost. "...But not today?"

"Not today," Jack agrees as he glances down at his watch, a watch made with all the considerable skill acquired by a Pooka that's lived through eternity several times over. Each hour on the watch face is marked by _recess_ and every day of the week is _Snowday_ and the hands point towards the center instead of pointing out — the center that's a globe alight with the miniature sparks of believers, dozens upon hundreds upon thousands. "I'm due in Finland."

"Jack..." Holding out a paw, Bunnymund stalls the boy's departure. "My favorite place. My favorite time. My favorite person. Do you know who it is? Do you know what they are?"

The smile directed at Bunnymund _warms_ him through and through, and while Jack might not be his favorite person — he's something else again. "Like I wouldn't know," Jack says softly, flipping upside down and hovering in mid-air. "When you can go anywhere you like, with anyone you like, and stay for as long as you like." The boy hugs him, upside down and awkward but _warm_ for all the coldness he extrudes. "And yet it's _always_ 1947 at the corner of 18th and Fairfax with you leaning against the lamppost, and you _always_ start the conversation the exact same way." Releasing his hold, Jack spins around before lightly flicking the Pooka's nose with the tip of one icy finger. "Enjoy your vacation, Aster."

E. Aster Bunnymund can go anywhere he wants. Any _time_ he wants. With any _one_ he wants. But he has a _favorite_ place. And time. And person. Time and space mean little to him — as long as he can return. Again and again, to his one _perfect_ beginning, because the _first_ time is, really, all the time there will ever be.

E. Aster Bunnymund is difficult to know, and prefers to be unknown, but there's a deep, abiding joy in knowing that he _is_ known — by two people. One is Jack, to whom all things are possible _if only once_. And the other is waiting for him in 1947 at the corner of 18th and Fairfax. Where the Pooka leans against a lamppost and watches as a man helps an acquaintance into a cab.

"Good evening, Mr. Dowd," Bunnymund says — as he'll _always_ say, for it's what he _first_ said.

Elwood straightens, and looks, and walks over as if giant, talking rabbits are of no more concern to spot along the street than a mailman out delivering letters. "You have the advantage on me." The man grins affably as he doffs his hat. "You know my name and I don't know yours."

Bunnymund can't help but smile back at this man who restores his faith in the human race with every considering touch, every door held, every invite given. "What name do you like?"

"Harvey."

Elwood sways, a bit worse for wear after his third martini, and Bunnymund catches him underneath the elbow to help steady the man. "What a coincidence. My name happens to be Harvey," the Pooka tells him as together, arm in arm, they begin walking down the lamp lit sidewalk.

And in a way it's _not_ a lie, for this is the time, and place, and _person_ Bunnymund returns to — and he's always _Harvey_ to Elwood P. Dowd. And it's always the corner of 18th and Fairfax. And it's always 1947.

It's a paradox that makes life worth living.

~o~

_**End notes:**__ And so ends a _Rise of the Guardians_ / _Harvey_ crossover drabble that wouldn't really have fit at the end of one of _In The Silence's_ parts o.o I know I should be working on _Silence_. I really should be. But I wrote this instead... Title is taken from one of Dowd's lines in the movie:_

"Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, _'In this world, Elwood, you must be'_ — she always called me Elwood — _'In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant.'_ Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me."

_And so I shall :)_

_Written because Joyce admits in an interview the inspiration _Harvey_ was in the creation of Bunnymund._


End file.
